You Are To Me
by SoulofFireHeartofDragon
Summary: *SMALL SPOILERS FOR AOU* Natasha wasn't sure what she was doing anymore, or how she had become best friends with a crazy archer and his family, she just knew where she stood, and who she stood with. Or: Natasha has a nightmare and Clint comforts her. Pre-AOU, Pre-Winter Soldier, Post Avengers. Rated T


**A/N: Don't hate me, but I kind of like the idea of Clint being more fatherly to Natasha, which is how this was born. It's a small work, kind of exploring their friendship briefly.** **Obvious spoilers for AOU, so if you don't want anything spoiled, don't read. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't anything affiliated, or related to Marvel. Again, I'm just a bored fangirl who's poor and striving for a college degree. That is all, I will return the characters safely, I promise. :)**

* * *

She was shivering, small frame cuddled on the edge of Clint's couch. Her legs curled tighter into herself as she waited for Clint to fix the heating. Usually it wouldn't have been a problem, but in January, and his wife being in early pregnancy, Clint had decided it was probably time to fix it when the stupid machine had finally broken. She could still hear him messing with it as the television opposite her played some late night show on the only channel that their antenna could pick up. Her heart wasn't really into it, but it offered some distraction from her latest nightmare.

She shivered again, before getting up off the couch and approaching Clint in the hallway.

His small frame had wound its way around the heater, one hand playing with knobs, while the other held various tools. She could just barely make out his messy, sandy hair poking above everything, as something sparked and a curse echoed in the small closest.

"You ok?" She asked.

Clint nodded briefly as he wormed his way out, setting the tools just outside of the closet. Inside, the rusty metal box hummed to life, finally releasing heat into the rest of the house. Clint leaned forward to adjust the temperature, then stepped back with his arms crossed, giving his work a last once over. It was a look she knew well.

He turned to her, a smile disappearing as his lips tightened in concentration. Uncomfortable, she wrapped her arms further around herself, feeling exposed under his scrutiny. Despite the heat that now permeated the house, she still shook from the remnants of her nightmare. Clint screaming, blood all over her hands, panic….

She took a deep breath, trying to settle her heart rate as it pounded against her rib cage.

"Natasha," Clint said softly.

His expression was now concerned, bright eyes laced with worry, a hand extended waiting for her response before moving in. Clint was playing their age old game, waiting politely to see if she wanted help and if not, ready to back away and give her space. She liked it, and some days she took his offer of reclusiveness, but now, standing in the hallway with the remnants of an earlier nightmare still plaguing her subconscious, all she wanted was to touch Clint, if anything for the reassurance that he was breathing.

She stared back, eyeing his scarred hand that was still outstretched to her, somewhat awkwardly as he waited for something, anything to be said.

"I had another nightmare," she whispered, just high enough for him to hear, emotions finally breaking after weeks of building, "You were there, and we were in Budapest, but I hadn't gotten to you in time, and there was blood, so much blood," her voice grew quicker, instinct to revert back to Russian over-run by her need for Clint to hear her, because if she could just get it out… "I tried, but there were so many bullet wounds, and you were crying for help but my bones felt like lead when I tried to move, and then they came rushing in towards you, and all I could do was watch, and think about Laura, and I just-"

She stopped, bringing a shaking hand through her hair as she fought to control her emotions. Faintly she realized that a tear had made its way down her cheek, as strong, familiar arms wrapped around her, bringing her head against an equally familiar chest and heartbeat. A strong heartbeat which resounded in her ears, relaxing her as she caught herself in a whirlwind of hurt and sorrow that threatened still to overtake her.

Still, the arms wrapped tighter around her small frame, becoming the only thing she was aware of. She hadn't remembered a time like this since before the Avengers initiative changed both their lives, throwing them into a pool of randomly selected cards, and wilds being thrown every direction. It was a game, but a game where no one knew the rules and the only way to win was being one step ahead of your opponent.

She swallowed hard, remembering a time when she had first come to the house, barely twenty-one, wanting nothing to do with the family that at the time only consisted of Clint and Laura. They hadn't had much then, but their happiness was contagious. Happy, she still remembered waking to Clint shaking her after a particularly horrific nightmare. Afterwards, a soothing voice as he un-cuffed her from the head board, only to be thrown against the wall as she sprang into defensive.

It had taken several moments to calm her, but when he had she crumpled to the floor only to be brought in by his arms.

"I'm not anything," she remembered sniffling into his shirt, "Belonging to nobody, or anywhere. Why me? There's nothing important about me."

She had closed her eyes, Clint running a soothing hand through her hair, then talking softly to her like a father to a panicked child, "You are to me," he had said with such surety, such conviction that she couldn't help but believe him. Trust wasn't easy to build afterwards, and she still didn't speak much about her life, like he didn't speak about his past, but they didn't need words. They knew. And afterwards he had spent the entire night awake with her, even showing her some of his favorite spots for star gazing, a single sentence echoing through her head, " _You are to me."_

Now, as she made sure his heart was beating, in that small hallway, Clint with two kids and a third on the way, Natasha understood what he had meant. She didn't need to be anything, she was just her, and that was enough for him. A best friend, a loyal partner, he wanted nothing more. No control, no payment, just someone to trust when he couldn't trust anyone else.

She smiled, fingers letting go of the back of his shirt as she pulled away from him, standing up straighter, almost relaxed.

Clint stood a part as well, barely smiling, but encouraging none the less. There was a pause, and then he began collecting his tools, Natasha bending over to help him. It was nearing one in the morning, and Laura would get mad if Natasha had kept her husband up late any longer.

She had just returned a screw driver when a sweat- filled hand towel hit her in the face. Suicide for anyone brave enough, but for Clint she just smiled mischievously before tossing it back, also hitting him the face.

* * *

When Laura woke up to see her husband covered what could only be paint from a paint ball war, she said nothing but smiled. Inside she knew Natasha was probably covered as well, which also meant Clint's repairs hadn't ended until late, if the heat inside the house was anything to go by. Still, she wasn't going to tell them about hearing Nat wake up for her nightmare, or about them hugging, no. She was just going to store that particular picture until Natasha needed it. Which she would, poor soul had a scrapbook going with these heartfelt moments.

The thought had her smiling as she thought about which scrap book paper to use with that picture, before standing, ruffling her husband's hair, and then going downstairs. Clint smiled, enjoying that he got to sleep in, but already planning their date night.

After all, he had won, and Natasha had promised she would be babysitting if he did.

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